


What's for dinner?

by Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic, I Don't Even Know, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything, dammit just eat your pancakes, don´t ask, gruesome murder of pizza, unsafe cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:29:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29841549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake/pseuds/Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake
Summary: Aziraphale is making pancakes, but Crowley would rather eat something else tonight.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 12





	What's for dinner?

It was a warm, cosy Sunday evening. And because traditions were important, ever since the Apocanope Sunday evening meant cooking evening. There was just something very nice about staying in and cooking dinner together, even if both of them were absolutely horrible at it.

Aziraphale was making pancakes and quietly humming a song that didn´t in any way fit the description of bebop, but that the angel would have probably described as just that. The pancakes he was making smelled heavenly and there was probably an unreasonable amount of sugar in them.

Unfortunately, Crowley didn´t do heavenly.

He was a demon (kinda), and also a snake and pancakes weren´t usually his palette. Well, neither were raw mice or what you might otherwise expect from a snake, so maybe focus a bit more on the demon part.

Demons didn´t eat fluffy, sweet pancakes with too much cream and rainbow sprinkles on top. That was more his angel´s preference.

(Which doesn´t mean that angels generally eat such things. It was only this angel in particular who was a very bad example of an angel, seeing as he was actually nice. Angels generally don´t eat at all and if they did it, wouldn´t involve this much sugar or fat or colour for that matter. Aziraphale hadn´t expected the sprinkles to dye the dough this much, but he had certainly been delighted.)

Aziraphale was humming and cooking and wearing that apron that Crowley had bought for him. The huge, pink one with the terrible pun on the front. He wasn´t quite sure what the picture of the avocado with the heart eyes that adorned the rest of the apron had to do with anything, but it seemed just Aziraphale´s style.

He looked very, very good in it.

Crowley licked his lips. He was hungry.

The demon got up from his place at the fashionable yet uncomfortable kitchen table that they hardly ever used and sauntered over to his husband who was still innocently flipping pancakes.

“Hey there, beautiful”, he drawled.

Aziraphale looked up and gave him a smile.

“Hello, dear. Dinner´s nearly done.”

Crowley spared another glance at the pancakes. The swirling colours of the sprinkles were beginning to merge together into a slightly disgusting shade of grey. Aziraphale didn´t seem to mind, but Crowley very much did.

He wondered whether the sprinkles and cream really went into the pancakes before the baking. Something was wrong about this. Normally he wouldn´t say anything because he wasn´t really a good cook, but he was beginning to think that neither was Aziraphale.

“Looking great”, he said with a fake smile that turned real as soon as he looked back up at his husband and noticed once again how cute Aziraphale looked in that apron. 

Still, Aziraphale noticed that something was wrong. Both with his husband and the pancakes. Maybe he should´ve cracked the eggs before putting them in, but it hadn´t said so in the recipe. And cooking was basically just following the recipe, right?

He sighed and put down the pan with the unidentifiable mixture that was supposed to become pancakes.

“I don´t think this is working, dear. Mind if we order pizza again?”

“Oh someone, I thought you´d never ask.”

So they ordered pizza. Much more demonic. Nobody can withstand the temptation of pizza and temptation was what Crowley was all about. Also pizza was just delicious.

If he rolled the slices up and unhinged his jaw just a bit, he could fit nearly half of the entire pizza in there. And naturally, if you have a special skill like that, you have to use it.

This was perhaps the reason why they never ate pizza indoors.

Sitting outside in St. James´ park and looking up to the stars while devouring half a pizza at once was much more romantic anyway. You just have to watch out that the ducks don´t decide that you aren´t feeding them enough and start to attack you. Especially if one of you is too “look at me I´m not nice” to feed them and the other is way too busy being enthusiastic about food.

(I won´t tell you who is which, but I suspect it´s quite obvious anyway.)

The ducks didn´t attack that night. Maybe they just didn´t notice or maybe someone was actually way nicer than they were letting on and was willing to share their food if that meant that the love of their life could eat in peace.

Basically, Crowley signed a peace treaty with the ducks that night.

(And if I say signed then I mean signed. The ducks of St. James´ park had been observing the meeting of secret agents for centuries and knew better than to trust a verbal agreement.)

And so our ineffable husband shared a romantic night and pizza beneath the stars and no ducks dared disturb them. 

When they came back that night, they realised that they had actually forgotten to turn of the oven after attempting to make pancakes. Nothing had caught on fire yet, but the entirety of sugar cream and dough had melted down into almost crystallised chunks of unidentifiable origin. You could´ve probably convinced someone that this was some rare kind of diamond. They were certainly hard enough.

As Aziraphale discovered, they also tasted quite good. Probably better than the pancakes would´ve had. This was just crystallised fat and sugar and burnt dough and this is exactly what everyone loves. It probably also gave you cancer, but being an angel had to have some perks. Also a normal human would´ve never been able to eat them anyway because their teeth would´ve broken of.

And so this night of staying in and cooking together hadn´t turned out that bad after all. 

They decided to never do it again. Next time they would probably set fire to something for real.

(Also Crowley might have sold the Hyde Park to the ducks as extra territory. He obviously didn´t actually own Hyde Park and was just hoping that the ducks would never find out.)

(They obviously did, but that´s another story.)


End file.
